White Shores
by Gentle Hobbit
Summary: Frodo has been sent over the sea to be healed if he can, but nothing is guaranteed. How, then, does this attempt at healing take place and what kind of peace does Frodo gain, if any?
1. Arrival

**Disclaimer:** This story is a way of re-interpreting concepts and ideas already present in _The Lord of the Rings_. All characters within belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is for fun and for sharing, but not for profit.

**Author's note: **In _The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien_, Tolkien wrote that _Frodo was sent or allowed to pass over the Sea to heal him -- if that could be done, before he died... so he went both to a purgatory and to a reward, for a while: a period of reflection and peace and a gaining of a truer understanding of his position in littleness and in greatness, spent still in Time amid the natural beauty of 'Arda Unmarred,' the Earth unspoiled by Evil. _(Tolkien, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, #328)

In "White Shores," I plan to explore what it might have been that Frodo goes through in both this purgatory and this reward.

* * *

**Chapter 1: **_Arrival_

It was a dance, Frodo decided. The white gulls wheeled overhead, gliding in turns of excitement and curiosity.

One bird landed on the prow before Frodo and fixed one shining black eye upon him. For a long moment, the gull regarded Frodo imperiously and then, with a sudden flap of grey-white wings, launched itself up into the blue.

The green shores were closer now, yet it seemed as if time were paused -- stopped between one moment and the next where the Elven boat did not move and only the shore itself silently, slowly, slid forwards.

Weary, Frodo crossed his arms on the wooden gunwale, laid his head down upon them and closed his eyes.

oOo

The lap-lap of the calm water against the hull slid into his mind as the outside world slowly focused into solidity. And where there was no feeling before came a warm hand upon his shoulder -- the touch growing from muzzy emptiness into the sharp clarity of fingers upon skin.

"Frodo," said Lord Elrond. "We are here."

And so Frodo allowed himself to be led, stumbling, down the plank on to the searing white shores. His eyes stung from the brightness and they watered.

"I can't see," he said to no-one in particular. "It's too bright."

He felt an old wizened hand slide into his.

"Never mind, lad," said Bilbo, and Frodo could feel the quick eager trembling. "We will go together."

"Yes," said a deep voice and a large gnarled hand clasped his elbow. "It is not far, Frodo," said Gandalf.

But Frodo's eyes could not open against the glare. His foot snagged against a stone and he lurched.

Strong and graceful arms caught him and bore him from that place to where he did not know.

oOo

When Frodo awoke, the salt smell was still in the air and the caw-caw of the gulls ran ever in their never-ceasing cry. Cautiously he opened his eyes, but the white brilliance beat fiercely at him and he brought his hand up to cover his face.

"Do not fret," said a soft voice by his side, and Frodo could feel his head being lifted and a cloth made of soft silken stuff bound about his head. "This is thin and it will allow you to open your eyes."

What the voice said was true and Frodo found that indeed he did not need to guard against the light. Cautiously he relaxed and his eyes opened fully.

There at his side was an elf -- an ageless being of beauty. It seemed to Frodo that she had something of the look of both Arwen and Galadriel about her. And yet, he thought immediately, that would not be surprising as they had been the only female elves he'd seen much of. He truly did not have much to go on.

"I beg your pardon," he stammered.

"There is no need," said the Elf with a gentle laugh. "You have woken from a deep sleep and much seems strange to you."

"Yes," said Frodo and he slowly sat up. The room tilted and he hung on hard to the edges of the bed. A surprisingly firm hand steadied him at his back.

"Do not attempt too much too soon, Frodo Baggins," she said to him. "You still recover from your journey and you are unused to this place."

Frodo lay down again. "You know my name," he said. "I am sorry that I cannot properly introduce myself to you."

"Whereupon you'd bow, no doubt, and put yourself at my service," the Elf said merrily. "It is just as well that I have kept you from your proper introductions. I doubt at the moment that you would manage a bow in the manner of your kind."

"Probably not," said Frodo, thankful that he had indeed escaped that duty. "And yet I do not know your name."

"I am the daughter of one with whom you travelled, the wife of another, and the mother of whom you bid farewell before you ever returned to your own land."

Frodo looked at her in surprise. "Are you, then, Lady Celebrían?"

"I am," she said smiling. "And you are the second cousin once removed of Mr. Bilbo Baggins whom you sometimes call uncle."

"Bilbo!" cried Frodo and he raised himself on his elbows. "Is he here? Is he all right?"

"Do not worry about your uncle," said Celebrían swiftly. "He has waited by your bedside while you slept but has now begun to explore this city. He will return."

Frodo said nothing. Instead he very slowly sat up. The room did not tilt, and so, very cautiously, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. However, the floor was too far away and, through the cloth, he could only see muted brilliance.

Celebrían immediately knelt and drew something towards Frodo. His feet found beneath them a sturdy stool, and they rested upon it.

"If you wish to walk," Celebrían said, "you would do well to hold on to my arm. There are steps and ways unfamiliar to you."

"I think I shall sit here a moment before I try," said Frodo. His hands still gripped the sheets.

After a pause, he spoke again. "Forgive me, but I do not understand why you are here. You are very kind in aiding me, but don't you wish to be with Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel?"

Even though he could not see her face clearly, Frodo knew that she was laughing silently.

"I have seen them and I have been with them, Frodo. And I will be with them for many ages to come. Our reunion filled me with joy. It has also given me sorrow, for I have lost my daughter. But time will give me in turns both comfort and solace. And time is not as precious for us as it is for mortals. I can wait now that we have spent days together."

"Days," said Frodo uncertainly. "How many has it been since the ship arrived?"

"Three," answered Celebrían. "Yes," she added at Frodo's sound of surprise. "You have slept for three days. You needed it, I think -- for both your body and your mind."

"And... and Bilbo?" Frodo's voice was small.

"He slept for one day, and woke with renewed vigour. He has taken well to living among Elves. Come!" she added encouragingly. "Try to walk. I will steady you."

Reluctantly, Frodo stood. He wavered, but, true to her word, Celebrían held one hand at his back, and one at his elbow.

He stepped down from the stool and his feet met a cool hard floor.

"Why can't I see in this place," he asked. "It is too bright for me. Does Bilbo also wear a cloth over his eyes?"

Celebrían hesitated and then said very gently, "No. He did not need it. He has adapted quickly to the Blessed Realm."

"And I have not." Frodo's voice was flat.

Celebrían did not answer but instead guided Frodo to a door. It led outside to a wide verandah with sides that came up to his chest. Frodo stood against that half-wall, but it was not until Celebrían brought the stool from by the side of his bed that Frodo could see over the top.

They were near the white shores that lay between Avallónë and the Sea. Waves rolled and white birds soared.

"If Sam were here," Frodo said absentmindedly, "he'd be planning hobbit-sized railings and furniture, no doubt," But as the words hung in the air, Frodo felt a great anguish welling up inside. He could not speak further and he stared out to sea.

Celebrían stood beside him and she followed his gaze.

"When I came here, and I was lonely and afraid," she said, "I did just as you are doing now. I looked to the Sea."

Frodo nodded dumbly Celebrían's voice was soothing.

"I would look to the Sea," she said once more. "Often I did not know what I was searching for: a glimpse of the home I had left? The comfort of the music of the waves? Sometimes it did not matter. If I could see the Sea, then I would have comfort."

But still Frodo did not answer. He crossed his arms on the wall edge and lowered his head upon them.

"I did not know who I was here," Celebrían mused. "I had not come willingly, and I did not know this place. It was the Final Refuge, and it promised me healing, but I was alone. And I did not know who I was."

"As I do not," Frodo said then and he raised his head. "Everyone has names for me: Ring-bearer; Iorhael they called me on the ship. But I don't know who I am any more. Everyone else seems to know, but I have lost myself."

"And so," said Celebrían, "you must find yourself again. You must find out who Frodo is. After all of your journeys and deeds, and your comings home and discoveries and losses, what you must do is find out, and tell us all who you truly are."

Frodo looked at her and he frowned. "As simple as that," he said shortly.

"Hardly simple," said Celebrían and she smiled at him. "Nay, do not recoil, Frodo. I do not jest with you. For this is truly what you must do if you are to find healing here."

"And... how do I do this?" asked Frodo hesitantly.

Celebrían smiled. "The bed was too high, was it not? And this parapet is difficult for you to see over, is it not? And I assure you that those steps yonder are quite steep -- too steep for hobbits.

"Why then, Frodo -- you must build a house."

_To be continued..._


	2. A Hobbit Hole

**Chapter 2: **_A Hobbit Hole_

Something small, thought Frodo. Yes, something small.

He gazed up at the tall white building before him. There were as many as three stories, he thought. Perhaps there were four. He couldn't tell, really, as this part of the city rose from the shores up the side of cliffs. Dwellings and towers, foot bridges and pathways intermingled in a fluid jumble where no building was the same as its neighbour, yet all were pleasing to those that beheld them.

Not unlike Minas Tirith, Frodo decided, and yet very unlike. Elven creations were both old and new, solemn and joyful, while the White City of Gondor was meant to be impressive.

Avallónë was impressive, although it didn't weigh one down with it. Small bays that held benches, unexpected passageways that opened up where one least expected it, flowers trailing from balconies -- these all beckoned and they invited him to explore.

But he was not Bilbo, and he was no longer the nephew who wanted to follow in his uncle's footsteps. He felt ill at ease in this strange land.

"Nonsense," Bilbo had said last night when Frodo confessed his desire to stay in his room. "You're a Baggins, and Bagginses explore. Never forget that, lad."

But when Frodo suggested that they explore together, Bilbo hesitated. He had friends that he had already made, and songs to listen to. No, Frodo would be better off exploring on his own. Bilbo wouldn't want to hold him back.

It was more as if it were the other way around, Frodo thought. Bilbo, after many years in Rivendell, was fluent in Sindarin and had studied Quenyan extensively. Frodo's own halting and poor Sindarin still far outshone his pitifully few words and phrases in Quenyan. He could not construct any useful sentences in Quenyan, and most of the elves spoke Quenyan here. Even the ones who did speak Sindarin spoke in a different style - sounds that Frodo wasn't used to - vowels that sounded pleasing but that confused him. Words that didn't make sense even if he managed to follow along in some small way.

Definitely something small, he decided again. Unobtrusive, fit for a hobbit. After all, he was a hobbit, wasn't he?

oOo

Elves came to do Frodo's bidding. He had scarce asked for it but many delighted in doing as he wished, and soon a hobbit hole came to be fashioned.

It was an odd hobbit hole, for it was built of the same white stuff that made much of the buildings around. It was, of course, partly under ground, but the front was white. The round door waited for colour to be put upon it.

Frodo walked through it. The craftwork was meticulous. Wooden panels of a pale wood were steamed and bent to the rounded hall. Three rooms had their windows to the outside facing the Sea - a study, the kitchen and a bedroom. There was room available to be dug further into the cliff if he so wanted.

Frodo walked back out again and sat upon the path at the cliff. Other dwellings of Avallónë were nearby but they did not intrude. He had a beautiful view. Surely he was lucky? His own home was exactly what he needed, wasn't it? A proper hobbit home?

oOo

"You seem sad," said Celebrían when she came upon him the evening of the finishing of his house. "Doesn't your home please you?"

Frodo looked up at her and then very slowly shook his head. "It troubles me to say this," he murmured, "but even after the beautiful craftsmanship and artful touches that your folk have done, I feel as if I will not be content here. And yet, it is a hole that any hobbit would delight in back home. I have designed it and the Elves have answered my every request, and made improvements that I would have been grateful for when I still lived in Bag End. This bench that we sit on -- it is in the same spot as the one outside Bag End's door was. It is even more comfortable than the one I had.

"Why then am I not content? Bilbo likes it, and he is willing to live here... when he is not with his new friends."

"Does it trouble you that Bilbo will keep his own rooms in Elven dwellings?" asked Celebrían.

"No," answered Frodo. "He has lived with Elves for a long time and he is comfortable with them. He spends time with me each evening. I can't ask for more than that."

"I can't ask for more than that," repeated Celebrían softly. "It is a hole that any hobbit would delight in back home. It sounds like you are trying hard to play the part expected of you."

Frodo laughed then, a bitter sound. "I don't know how I should behave... what I must do. Bilbo seems to have no trouble at all. He fit in almost immediately. I still have yet to do so. I still, even after these past months, must wear the cloth over my eyes. They tire easily in this brightness. Bilbo is happy, and that delights me, but I feel as if I am the most wretched, ungrateful creature. I did as you asked me, and I have been rewarded with this fair dwelling, beyond anything I could have hoped for. Yet I don't feel as if... as if I fit it somehow... or it doesn't fit me."

"Tell me," said Celebrían, "did you build this home for a hobbit, or did you build it for Frodo."

Frodo looked at her puzzled. "For me," he said. "I am a hobbit, and this is a hobbit-hole. The furniture is the right size for me."

Celebrían nodded gravely. "All that you say is true." She stood, turned and opened the door of the new hole. She peered inside but did not go in. Presently she spoke without turning around. "The first day you awoke in Avallónë -- did you not say that you no longer knew who you were?"

"I did," Frodo said.

"Do you now?" Celebrían asked.

"No," said Frodo, and he moved restlessly on the bench. "I thought that building this house would give me answers, but it hasn't."

Celebrían shut the door and sat down once more upon the bench. Side by side they looked out over the sea in quiet thought.

"Tell me, Frodo," Celebrían said suddenly. "How many names have you had?"

Frodo shrugged. "I hardly know. There seem so many."

"But I would like to know," said Celebrían. "All the names you have been called -- during your life in the Shire to more recent times."

Frodo looked at her oddly but then leaned back with a sigh.

"The Brandybuck," he said. "Mad Baggins' nephew. The Master of Bag End. Underhill. Ring-bearer. The Halfling. Master. Bronwe Athan Harthad. Frodo of the Nine Fingers. Cormacolindo. Deputy Mayor. Iorhael... and Mr. Frodo."

"I like the last name the best," said Celebrían.

"Why?" asked Frodo. He tilted his head and regarded her closely.

"It was the only name that you said with a soft voice," she answered. "You have a lovely voice, Frodo, yet it seemed hard while you spoke the other names. Why would that be?"

"Sam called me Mr. Frodo," Frodo said softly. He ran his hand over the wooden seat of the bench and looked out to sea. "It wasn't a title, or a role. Every time he said it, he was talking to me -- just to me. He knew who I was, and who I wasn't. He knew my flaws and loved me in spite of them."

He stopped then and Celebrían waited. Suddenly Frodo chuckled a little. "In the beginning I disliked it, you know. It felt uncomfortable. But he would not stop, and I became used to it, and even liked it. It was Sam. Now I would give anything to hear him say it once more."

"He must be a friend of great value," said Celebrían.

"He is... or was." Frodo said and stood slowly. He turned and went to the door, laying his hand upon the bare wood. "He was a true hobbit. He would delight in making this a home. He wouldn't feel any awkwardness."

"Tied to the Shire?" suggested Celebrían.

"Yes," answered Frodo.

"In the way you are not?" Celebrían added. Her voice was light.

Frodo nodded. His gaze was distant, unseeing. "I don't belong to the Shire. I didn't when I returned from my journey. I always felt as if I were on the outside looking in."

"You never came home," said Celebrían

"No," said Frodo.

"And now you have built a hobbit-hole, in the fashion of your people -- a place where you do not feel as if you could be 'at home'," Celebrían said quietly.

Frodo looked at her, and then back at the door. "I suppose I have," he whispered. "I suppose I'm no longer a hobbit, although," he added with a short laugh, "I don't know what I am instead."

Celebrían swiftly rose and came to stand behind Frodo. She placed one hand upon his shoulder and another softly upon his head.

"You are a hobbit, Frodo," she said. "But you are also something more. And perhaps you need a house in which the Frodo you have become can feel at home.

"All those names you told me each hold some part of you -- some part of 'Frodo'. Perhaps there is some part of Frodo that no name bestowed by others can show. Find out. And do not shy away from those names. Do not shy away from what you have become. Learn. Only then can you be at peace with yourself. Only then can you build a home."

_To be continued_


	3. The Dance of the Sea

**Chapter 3: **_The Dance of the Sea_

"You need not build now," said Celebrían to Frodo the morning after their talk in front of the hole. "Nor do you need to make plans. Take some time for yourself."

And so it was in the late afternoon that Frodo found himself wandering down by the shoreline for the first time since he had arrived. He had heard the pounding of the waves and the cry of the gulls each day, of course, but it seemed too heavy. There was a power in those sounds and Frodo had shied away.

But now Frodo walked on the shore. The sun on the water dazzled, and so he wore the cloth that shielded his eyes. The sand was smooth and soft under his feet.

He did not know how long he had been there when a deep voice came from behind him.

"I am glad you have chosen to come to the water."

"Elrond!" cried Frodo with delight and he turned to greet him.

Elrond smiled. "How have you fared, Frodo," he asked. "I have not seen you at any gatherings, nor have you visited the shores before."

Frodo hesitated. "Have I been expected?"

"Welcomed is a better word," said Elrond. "Yet none are dismayed that you choose to stay away for now. When you are ready, you will come."

Frodo had no answer for this. He watched apprehensively as Elrond walked into the water.

"The water is warm and soothing," said Elrond. "Come. It will ease you."

"I… I'd rather not," said Frodo. Another wave curled over itself and crashed into foam. He stepped back.

Elrond came from the water's edge. "You spoke much of the Sea, Frodo, while we sailed here. You have dreamt of it many times. Why do you treat it so gingerly now?"

"I haven't…" began Frodo, but then he looked into those clear eyes. "I have been afraid," he said simply.

"Why?" asked Elrond. He regarded Frodo closely.

Frodo quailed under that gaze. "It's… it's too powerful. I will lose myself in it… what's left of me. It is too much."

"You would not come to any harm, Frodo," said Elrond. "Come." And he held out his hand.

Frodo took the hand slowly but he obediently followed Elrond to the edge. He stepped into the water. The sand shifted under his feet. Wavelets lifted and pulled at his foot hair, the foam hissing past his ankles.

He followed Elrond in up to his knees. Water surged and fell in rhythm. He looked apprehensively at the large waves that were closer now.

"You swam when you were young," said Elrond.

Frodo nodded jerkily.

"You will not have forgotten." The Elf released Frodo's hand and stepped back onto dry sand.

But when Elrond was gone, Frodo retreated to the shore. He sat down and stared out at the waves for a long time.

oOo

The next day, Frodo sought Elrond out.

"I want to try," he said, "but I am afraid, and I don't know how not to be."

"You must face the Sea," Elrond said. "You have the sea-longing, but you do not truly know the Sea. You must face it, listen to its voice and its music. Be in it."

"I am broken," Frodo said then. "I have faced many dangers and have lived, but it is as if they have taken my courage. With no Quest to hold me, I have nothing left. It has taken everything. Where may I find courage?"

"With joy," said Elrond and he took Frodo once more to the water.

When they stood there, feet in the wet sand, Frodo laughed shortly. "I have no garments to swim in."

Elrond turned to him. "What would you do in the Shire?"

Frodo blinked. "Go naked. We would not trouble ourselves with modesty."

Elrond smiled with a touch of mirth at the corners of his eyes. "Then do not trouble yourself here. Go naked, Frodo, and feel the water around you."

Frodo looked up at the cliffs. "Would that not be unseemly? I do not wish to offend."

"It would not," Elrond answered. "Do not fear censure, Frodo. It is more unseemly to feel restraint because of an imagined sense of propriety. This is Arda Unmarred. All things natural give delight to all."

And so Frodo removed his clothing and threw it from him. The breeze felt cool on his skin.

Elrond led him out into the Sea. When they were in up to Frodo's waist, the Elf Lord stood calmly, his robes trailing in the water. Waves beat at them and Frodo felt fear.

Elrond nodded slowly. "You believe you are broken and that you failed your Quest. Now you must begin to rebuild your faith. You will come to no harm here. Ulmo, Lord of Waters, will not allow it."

Frodo shivered.

"Go further in, Frodo," Elrond commanded. He turned and strode back to the shore.

The water tugged and pushed Frodo and he stumbled. "Alone?" he cried, but he already knew the answer. He slowly turned and looked out at the heaving Sea. After a moment, he gingerly stepped forward. The water foamed and surged around his waist and his feet lifted off the bottom. With a whoosh and a scramble he crested the wave and landed with a jolt on hard sand. His legs stung.

"Go further." It was as if it were an edict in his mind. And so, trembling, he obeyed. The Sea was roiling grey green -- it seemed to Frodo that even if all life were to end and the stars fall from the heavens, this massive living water, the great powerful expanse, would never cease. The endless waves would pound the shores forever.

A swell caught him unawares and it slapped him in the face. He gasped and coughed. Salt stung in his eyes

Go further!

Frodo went further. Even on the down swells, the water was now at his waist. But as he crept forward and as each wave hit him, he soon found that his desperate jumps and floundering were becoming smoother. He no longer held himself immobile and suffered each stinging attack of salt water but rather he began to push upward with each swell so that he rode the wave.

Go further. This was not enough, Frodo knew. And yet, if he went much further in, he'd not have firm purchase on the sandy bottom.

If he were to go further, the waves would be taller than himself. He wavered, torn by two desires: to flee those menacing walls of water, and to stay -- to obey the silent command he felt in every part of his being.

Another wave raced towards him and just as the water rose, he sprang upward, one leg pushing off the sand, the other bent and his arms outstretched. He rode the crest and he came down, landing softly on bent legs. No time did he have to marvel at the ease of the movement, for another wave chased the first and the power of straightening his body changed to yet another leap which carried him up and through the surge and gasping, exhilarated, to the other side.

No stinging slap of water. No panicked scramble to stay upright. For that moment, Frodo felt his tired stiff body become as fluid and supple as an Elf's. He was dancing in the waves!

And then a giggle surprised him. As he gently pushed forward into a small swell, he thought, if only hobbits in the Shire could see him now. A mad Baggins dancing in the waves! What would they think? No doubt they would expect as much from that outlandish Brandybuck lad. Cracked!

What a glorious thing it is to be cracked, he thought and then, without thinking, jumped into the next wave. Up and over!

The sand was soft and fluid under his feet as he came down with bent legs. He was no longer jolted by crashing down stiffly.

Time to go further. Frodo threw fear to the winds and leaped forward. As he topped the next rise of water, he knew that he was in over his head. And yet, the troughs between the waves were low enough for his feet to seek purchase on the sandy bottom in time to spring upward to the next rolling swell. As long as he danced, he would not be overcome.

Frodo danced. A fierce exultation of joy filled him and he danced.

And the warm water welcomed him.

_To be continued_


	4. Shells, Sand and Stars

**Chapter 4: **_Sand, Shells and Stars..._

From that day on, Frodo often went into the Sea. The menacing boom and thunder of the neverending waves still held a feeling of mystery and unfathomable power, yet Frodo now knew that he could seek it out and become a part of it when he desired to.

All attempts at building a home had ceased. Frodo remembered Celebrían's advice and no longer felt hurry or guilt. He did move into the hobbit hole with Bilbo, but everyone understood that it was not Frodo's final home. Each day he spent much time alone in the waves or walking the strand, marvelling at the small, delicate shells that lay scattered about.

It was on one such day, in the late afternoon, when Gandalf found Frodo lost in thought and gazing at a translucent shell that lay open like two wings upon his fingertip.

When Gandalf sat down on the sand and watched him, Frodo stirred.

"I have seen many of these," Frodo murmured. He did not look away from his hand. "They are everywhere I look."

"Yes," said Gandalf.

Frodo leaned down and carefully touched his finger to the sand. The shell lay open there. He straightened.

"I accidentally crushed one earlier," he said heavily. "I held it in the palm of my hand, and as I stood up, I unthinkingly clenched my hand. When I opened it, the shell was in pieces."

"And no doubt you have crushed many under your feet as you have walked on the sand each day," said Gandalf.

"Yes," said Frodo. "It seems impossible to avoid them. I feel like a great, trampling beast. And yet I can't stay away."

"Then don't," said Gandalf. "As beautiful as the shells may be, they will all be ground to sand in their turn."

"I suppose so," said Frodo. "At least, that is what I have told myself."

Gandalf smiled then. "Wise advice," he said.

"But," said Frodo, and Gandalf raised his eyebrows, "each of these shells, as small and delicate as they are, belong here. In the great, booming sea out there, or on this wide strand, through time short or long, each shell belongs. When I look at each one, I think of how it fits in a great, connected web of all life. The fathomless depths of the ocean does not trouble it, nor does its eventual fate of being crushed underfoot. Its beauty is of this unmarred place, and it feels mysterious to me in its simplicity and belonging. They are tiny but they feel more powerful than me. They feel unreachable, almost."

He looked up at Gandalf then. "Do I make any sense?"

"In part," said Gandalf. "And perhaps in time, in whole."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Frodo perplexed.

"That, my dear hobbit, I will leave to you to discover," said Gandalf. "But for now, I will leave you with the message I have been charged to bring. There is another celebration to be held in your honour tonight, and Bilbo hopes that you will be there. The Elves, or so he says, are clamouring to meet you."

Frodo made a face. "I cannot imagine Elves 'clamouring' over anything."

"Nor I," said Gandalf with a twinkle in his eye. "Nevertheless, Bilbo is right in that many greatly wish to meet you. However, they do not want to push you into anything before you feel ready, so I daresay they will make merry whether you are there or not."

"That is a relief," said Frodo fervently, "although I would like to please Bilbo," he added a little wistfully. "However, I do not wish to be held up as a great hero by the Elves. It feels... unnatural."

"And given what you know about Elves, and Bilbo for that matter," said Gandalf, "you truly feel that their wish to celebrate the one who carried the Ring to Mount Doom is unnatural?"

"I suppose not," said Frodo reluctantly.

"Good," said Gandalf. "Once you allow the Elves to celebrate according to Elves, and Bilbo according to Bilbo, it all becomes much easier. I assure you -- trying to change the opinion of a whole island's worth of Elves is a wearisome business!"

Frodo smiled then. "I would not wish to do that! I can't imagine actually trying to change the mind of even one. They're too..." he floundered for a moment. "Well, it is not for the likes of me to try anyways."

Gandalf stood. "You sounded like Samwise just then." He touched the cloth that still covered Frodo's eyes. "You may not have noticed, but the sun has set behind us. You might try taking that off."

Frodo did so and blinked in the twilight.

"Good," said Gandalf. "I will tell Bilbo not to expect you."

Frodo watched Gandalf walk back up the beach. Night came swiftly on Tol Eressëa -- more swiftly than Frodo even remembered in the Shire -- and already the first stars were pricking the sky above him.

He stood and wandered slowly to the water's edge. The gentle waves that touched his feet were warm.

On a sudden impulse, he threw his clothes from him and lay in the shallow water. Underneath him, the sand was soft and hard and giving all at once, and the waves flowed and retreated about his body.

Frodo could feel his hair lift freely and then settle each time the waters came. He stretched out his arms on either side and felt thousands of grains move through his fingers.

For a long time he lay like this. The water was at high tide, and so the waves stayed in both level and motion. Grains of sand continued to run through his fingers, flowing like silk in the waves. Thousands upon thousands of grains, Frodo thought and he looked at the stars above him.

He had seen stars spread in a jewelled carpet once before, in Hollin. There they had glittered, sharp and cold. Here, the stars didn't seem to burn as fiercely. Remote, they were, and Frodo felt small under them, but they were warmer, even gentler in some way. Yet they spread across the sky innumerable as the sand amongst his fingers.

Frodo thought of the shell he had crushed earlier. Many more were under his body. Sand flowed and washed around him, and the stars spread over him. All were uncountable, and once again he felt out of place. He did not belong.

"Yet I can belong in the Sea," he said out loud.

And then it were as if a voice spoke to him: "If you move with the waves and do not protect yourself."

"And I have learned that lesson," Frodo said, although to whom he did not know, "and I am grateful. But I feel lost and alone. Bilbo belongs here. He has moved here and lives amongst the Elves as if he were a fish meant to swim in these waters. Yet everything I do comes at a great effort. The least grain of sand belongs here--the smallest shell, the stars above--all one amongst many, but their smallness and insignificance does not trouble them in the least. They don't bother about "belonging", and so by their very indifference, they are where they ought to be."

The voice that was not a voice came again. "Then need you make such an effort?"

Frodo had no answer for this. He stood up and walked over the sand towards the low cliffs. Then, prompted by what he did not know, he looked back.

During the bright light of day, he could see the gleam and shine of sunlight inside glistening tubes -- as water curled over itself and crashed into foam. But now, near the end of dusk with only the dimmest of light, there was no horizon between land, sea and sky. Instead, although Frodo did not stand at the water's edge, it seemed as if, from his very feet, the darkness swept up right into the stars above. The wave crests were the only thing he could see as they climbed down out of the ink black and rolled towards him in neverending motion -- lines of pale foam that formed and broke and reformed.

The waves were as innumerable as the sand and the stars, Frodo thought. They did not worry about what they were. They were not overwhelmed. They just iwere/i, and so they belonged.

And then Frodo's mind wandered back many years and he saw Bilbo making a speech at his eleventy-first birthday party. "One gross," he had said and the hobbits of Hobbiton and Bywater were affronted. Yet the multitude of faces upturned, listening, were many belonging to a whole. No hobbit gave thought to their right to be there, or to live in the Shire. If one was a hobbit, one belonged.

Moved by a sudden joy, Frodo scrambled up the cliffs (as best he could in the dark) and headed for the dwellings of Avallónë. He found the place of the Elves' celebration and he sat down outside. From within he could hear Bilbo reciting some words of poetry amidst sounds of merriment.

As if answering a call, although Frodo had not made any sound, a tall, graceful figure appeared dark in the doorway against the light within, and then stepped forward. It was Celebrían.

"Frodo," she said and there was warmth in her voice.

"I am very little," said Frodo, and he laughed.

"You are," she said, smiling.

"It is rather a relief," Frodo said. "I am very small after all and only need to be myself. Everyone has made such a fuss over me, and been terribly kind. I thought that I needed to be larger than life somehow... and twice as natural as Sam would say."

"I can understand that that would be a relief," said Celebrían. "You are who you are, Frodo, and you are nothing more or less than that."

Frodo nodded. "Now I understand some of my names."

"In what way?" asked Celebrían.

"Mr. Underhill. The Halfling. I did not have my own name. When I could not use my own name and I had to hide my identity, I was Mr. Underhill. When the poems told of 'The Halfling', I was one halfling of many. I belonged to the land of the Halflings. I was small and I belonged, just by being who I was and nothing more -- no identity, just like the sand and the shells and the waves.

"Perhaps I can just belong here simply by being."

"You can, Frodo," said Celebrían, her voice rich. "You can."

And so Frodo stayed there, outside in the dark, content just to be and to listen. And Celebrían sat with him -- both under the sky of stars innumerable, silent and belonging.

_To be continued_


	5. Coming Home

**Chapter :** _Coming Home_

Frodo was building again. He didn't know exactly what he wanted, but this did not trouble him. Gone was any desire to have a hobbit hole fashioned exactly after those in the Shire.

Only a week before, he had watched Celebrían in her garden, and he was baffled by the intricate design of climbers and creepers and small ground flowers that all wove together in both a carpet and tapestry of brilliant, joyful colour.

"How did you plan the garden," he asked, fascinated. "How could anyone bring together such harmony in so many colours and breadth and height -- in big and small..."

Celebrían laughed merrily and stepped over the small, star-like blooms gathered about her feet. "I did not _plan_ it, Frodo. I could not force living things to bend to my will as if I were their master."

"Then how..." Frodo shook his head, perplexed.

"I work with the plants," said Celebrían softly. "Over time I learn how they grow in this place and I add as it seems good. Thus the plants and I work together."

"Weaving together like a tapestry," murmured Frodo staring up at the creepers that spread rampant joy over the stone wall.

oOo

Later that day, on one of his many walks on the beach, Frodo found two shells that were much alike in colour and shape. Clearly they each had been made by the same kind of creature. However, when he looked at them closely, he found small differences in the ridges and shading of colour. One had clearly been longer in the making for it was a little larger and there was a greater variation in the patterns of colour.

When he was sure that no creature still lived within, he took the shells with him and from that day on kept them close to him.

oOo

And Frodo built. The Elves who came to help him were the same ones who had built the hobbit hole. Frodo was a little disconcerted when they returned as if they had never left, ready to pick up where they had left off. He had imagined that they would think poorly of him when he didn't want to stay in the smial after their hard work. However, they laughed when he spoke of his concern.

"Bilbo likes it very much," they said. "It matters not who lives there. And we had never built a hobbit's hole before."

And so Frodo thanked them and told them of his new plans. They were intrigued.

oOo

Day by day, Frodo watched the crafters put his ideas into shape. Each morning Frodo would tell Celebrían his ideas, and she would translate them into Quenyan for the crafters. Frodo felt grateful, for his language learning was slow as he had felt uncomfortable around such lofty beings who were not bothered with such petty cares as he had, and who gave their lives to creating beauty.

Bilbo grew curious. Frodo, however, asked him not to visit, and Bilbo willingly moved back to his original rooms in the elven dwellings so that Frodo could work without an audience. Gandalf, Elrond and Galadrial also stayed away - it was only Celebrían who came and, at Frodo's plea, gave advice and translations.

oOo

Time passed. Leaves grew golden and fresh green took their place. Tides flowed and ebbed. Frodo no longer felt the need for a clock nor did he care about the days. The elves built slowly. Sometimes they stopped altogether and did not come for a long time. Frodo built too, when there was some task that did not require great skill.

He took the scarf off now at each sundown and even, if he were in some deep shade, he could bear to push it up so it rested against his forehead until he came back out into the sunlight.

The moon quartered, grew dim and then, coming out from behind the sun, waxed to fullness. Each month, Frodo loved to sit by the strand and wait at sunset for the great heavy moon to lift into the sky - an impossibly large orange round that mirrored the sun.

Each day, Frodo walked about the growing house. He walked and thought and pondered. He changed his mind many times, but no-one was bothered. Indeed it was the opposite, for the elves delighted in seeing the quick, restless thoughts that flitted from one idea to another as only those from a mortal could do.

oOo

Sometimes, Frodo took to wandering about the city. While he was improving, he still had trouble speaking in Elvish, particularly Quenya, but he was learning the intricate ways of the city, the terraces and the gardens that, tucked in every little nook possible, continually delighted the explorer with their sudden appearance. Frodo delighted in finding these hidden ways and gardens, even more so when he understood that he was not intruding -- for elves did not guard their gardens as private places and indeed took pleasure when anyone came, sat and enjoyed.

On one such rambling walk, Frodo found himself in a covered walkway. It was made of stone, yet the pillars and the overhead vaulting were so delicate that he did not feel as if he were surrounded by a heavy stone structure. Willow trees hung their branches over the walkway. Vines twined around the pillars, and roses crept up trellises so that the open walkway seemed verily walled in living green. Overhead, the open areas between the thin ribs of vaulting were covered with a myriad of rich hues: many small panes of coloured glass shone with sunlight so that the pathway was dappled with shifting, shimmering jewels of blue, golden yellow, green and red.

Frodo felt as if he were walking into a hushed world of colour. He did not know how long he stood there until Celebrían was beside him.

"Such beauty," he said, and Celebrían smiled.

"Yes," she said. "I remember when this was built, soon after I arrived here."

Frodo gazed at her, remembering what she had told him of her story. "Did it bring you comfort?" he asked.

"It did," she said. "My world was grey, and this brought colour." Then her voice changed. "Come with me," she said. "You have not been to see a mallorn wood since you first came here. I know that Bilbo has asked you, yet you have stayed away."

"I was not ready," he said. "The mallorns would have reminded me too much of Sam's tree in the Party Field, and of Lorien."

"And now?" she asked.

"I will come," Frodo said.

oOo

It was not a long walk to the wood as they were already near the edge of Avallónë. It was late afternoon and the sun was low. The soft golden light slanted in through the trees and the very air seemed soft and glowing. Bilbo was with them, unusually quiet.

Slowly they walked and the trees grew a little closer together. The light faded and gently gave way to shadow. As evening came on, they neared a small, slow stream. As they watched, tiny points of light rose up around the banks and floated about. Wonderingly, Frodo raised a hand and one landed on his finger.

"Fireflies," he said softly, marvelling.

"Why so surprised, lad?" asked Bilbo, speaking for the first time. "We had them in the Shire."

"We did," said Frodo, "but it seemed so long ago. When we returned to the Shire, the land had been so polluted and so much laid waste that the fireflies were gone. Even after a lot was cleaned up, I did not see any return. I hope that one day they will." He looked at the firefly as it wandered off his finger and up into the air. "I never thought I'd see one again."

"They will return. I am sure of it," Bilbo said.

Frodo nodded and looked away from them. Bilbo and Celebrían waited, and when Frodo seemed to be himself again, they crossed the stream.

As they went on, Gandalf came towards them. Not saying a word, he turned and walked with them. Frodo wondered at this but did not ask.

It was dark under the trees now, but Frodo had no difficulty in seeing. He had long since abandoned the scarf. Whether he still had some vestiges of the keen sight he had gained from the Ring, or whether there was some kind of light that belonged to the trees themselves, it seemed to him that the woods gave its own low shimmer. More streams must have been nearby for he saw lazily drifting points of light throughout the trees.

And then the singing began. A high, clear voice came as if from a distance through the trees. Frodo could not understand the words, but the voice itself spoke of questioning and discovering.

They walked further into the woods. Two more voices joined the first ones and they added tones of fear and resolve. Yet even though the mood shifted, the voices were still remote and beautiful.

Frodo found his heart beating a little faster. When Elrond joined them, he hardly felt surprised. And as Elrond came, a fourth voice added a calming, healing note.

They walked on. Now several voices joined, each with a unique timbre and mood. What struck Frodo was that even as the voices came together, they kept their original tone and feeling, whether it be lighter or sombre. Yet they were in harmony even if at times there was some slight dissonance. Frodo found himself waiting for the next voice and what it would bring.

It brought discordance and chaos, pain and loss. Frodo shuddered and he looked at the others, but they all looked forward and walked on. Bilbo, however, took Frodo's hand.

How could something bring fear to his heart when the sounds were still of great beauty? The voices that had come early still continued in their softer, gentler melodies, and even the new, powerful, darker voice blended with the choir skillfully so that it was clear that it belonged. It was a part of the chorus.

They walked on. Frodo wanted to stop his ears and not listen, and yet the music was compelling. It pulled him in even as he feared to hear more. It spoke to him, as if to him alone. Even though four others walked alongside him, he felt as if they were only hearing the music. They were not a part of it, not embraced by it.

And then, up ahead, Frodo saw the trees thinning and then stopping at a glade. As they walked through into that clearing, a multitude of voices broke into gladness and a triumphant crescendo and Frodo saw Galadriel standing in the moonlight.

Moved by a sudden impulse, he rushed to her and knelt at her feet, his head bowed. But no sooner had he done so, she took his hand and bade him rise.

"Look about you, Ring-bearer," she said, and she swept her free arm around. Frodo looked and saw many elves step through the trees singing. As he wondered, all fell silent save one: the very first singer whose voice was a joy and who sang of adventure and wonder.

"What is all of this?" Frodo asked. "I do not understand."

"Do you not?" asked Galadriel.

And then Frodo understood. "No," he said. "I don't want this. I don't want the Elves to honour me." He tried to back away, but Galadriel did not let go.

"Does this change you, Frodo, as a person, that they choose to honour you," Galadriel asked, her voice rich and low.

"Well, no," Frodo stammered. "But it feels strange and unfitting."

Galadriel looked into his eyes. Frodo breathed deeply in as if to make ready to withstand an onslaught. But then he suddenly let go his breath and his shoulders bowed meekly.

"You were brought here, Frodo, to heal," said Galadriel gently. "The deeds you did earned you a place in lore and history, and it earned you love from many.

"You were brought here to heal, and to understand yourself -- yourself and your place in Arda. You are many things, Frodo. You are little, as we all are little, and you, in your own way, are great, as many have been great before you. You _are_ the Ring-bearer. You _are_ Bronwe athan Harthad. Those names are a part of you, but they do not contain you."

Frodo looked up at her. "Aragorn charged me to avoid pride. I do not think of myself as deserving praise, and I also do not wish for praise because I am mindful of that charge. What, then, should I do?"

Galadriel knelt before him. "Then do not think of yourself as great, Frodo. It would ill become you, and it would not be true for you, I think. Yet you can live amongst those who would honour you and still remain true to yourself. And so, I and Celebrían have brought you here to learn this lesson, for your natural humility would not have led you here alone.

"Listen, then, Frodo and allow the Elves to honour you. They do not change who you are, yet they show their own thoughts freely in song. And look! Those who have built for you are here. You do not know them as friends, but they know you and hold you highly in esteem. And yet they are willing to offer simple friendship, unhampered by admiration or worship. As a good friend said to you not long ago, it is wise to allow Elves to celebrate according to Elves, for I assure you that they will never do otherwise!"

And so Frodo listened. And while he did not change in his own thoughts, he began to listen unfettered by old distress. And once he did so, he could listen and learn of the Elves' ways and thoughts with clarity and see the freely offered friendship that spoke of no expectation or need.

oOo

And at last, one day more than a year after he had begun, Frodo bade all his friends come to him and he took them to his new home on the edge of Avallónë. The house was on the same cliff in which the hobbit hole had been built -- indeed the hole was a part of the new dwelling.

Bilbo looked around him with delight. "The worthies of Hobbiton might have had a few things to say about this, Frodo my lad, but lucky for us, they're not here!"

Everyone explored and Frodo and Celebrían followed quietly.

There were two slim structures that reached back into the gently sloping hill side. At the back, each turned inward as if to complete the shape of a horseshoe. And yet they did not touch, for there was an open space arched over by a rounded lintel. Indeed all the doors and windows were rounded at the top. While there were no wholly round hobbit doors, there were few sharp angles. Even all the corners of the house, inward and outward, were rounded

Through this arched passage way, to one side, bubbled a small stream. Rocks bordered its bed as it meandered through the courtyard and danced over steps that led it out to its original path down the cliffside. The structures themselves did not match. They were both of the cream-white stone that made most of the dwellings in Avallónë, but they were of differing heights. On the left side there were two levels each tall enough for elves and wizards to enter within. Here, Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond looked about with approval. But the right side was built to suit hobbits, for each storey was shorter and the steps were smaller. After a cursory glance at the Elven side, Bilbo looked up at the arched passage-way. He then came to a halt, intrigued.

"And where should I go now, Frodo?" Bilbo said with some amusement. "You seem to have built in paths for exploring and choices your visitors must make. How unhobbit-like! How delightful!"

The reason for Bilbo's halting was the verandah. It ran around the second story of the Elven side, but it then became a small bridge as it crossed over the arched passage way at the back. As it neared the hobbit side, however, it split into two half flights of steps. One small flight led down to the lower second story (for the second hobbit level was, by necessity, lower than the Elven side) and then it became a verandah similar to that on the other side. A full set of steps led down into the courtyard.

The second half-flight of steps, however, led up from the bridge onto the flat-topped roof. Bilbo eagerly climbed the courtyard stairs and then, puffing slightly, managed the last flight. Frodo followed and found Bilbo looking around him. A low wall edged the roof and trellises adorned the roof. New flowers grew in wooden planters and the beginnings of vines and creepers were inching their way up the trellises.

Bilbo took Frodo's arm. "And what will you do up here this far above ground?" he asked. "What iwould/i Sam think?"

"I will look at the stars," Frodo said, smiling. "See these low beds of wood? I shall bring blankets and I shall lie here and look at the stars. I will listen to the waves, and I will think."

Bilbo squeezed Frodo's arm. "That's my lad," he said.

They came back down the stairs and met the big folk on the verandah on the second floor of the hobbit side. The rooms that the veranda led to were the same width as the building itself, and Frodo's own bedroom was the foremost. This room had three outside walls, all of which had large doorways (to the inward veranda and to the forward balcony) or windows (to the outer view from the building). Each door and window was shuttered with well-fitted moveable wooden slats.

As they all crowded in, Frodo threw all the shutters wide open. The effect was that of a room opened to the air and to the sea -- the waves could be both seen and heard. The remaining walls were at the corners of the room and seemed more like pillars. Bilbo gasped, and Frodo felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Elrond smiling.

Metal-wrought staircases led from the second floors of both the Elven and Hobbit sides down into the centre courtyard. Artisans had wrought delicate strands of metal into flowing vines and trees so that the shimmering light stuff seemed alive and growing. Frodo led everyone down back into the courtyard.

The courtyard was on a slight slope. While the stream wended its way along the left side, there were flowers and steps and flagstones on the right, and even a fire-pit ringed with a myriad of brightly-coloured tiles no wider than the length of a hobbit's thumb.

Comfortable wooden chairs were scattered in a rough circle around the fire pit. However, smaller chairs were always one step higher than the larger stairs, and the steps themselves were shallow. Gandalf sat down in one of the larger chairs.

"It seems that your love of campfires has not dimmed," he said. "Dare I guess that many a story will be told around this fireplace?"

Frodo laughed. "Yes. And I hope that all of you will come here often and tell stories and share songs."

"You should understand Elves well enough by now," Elrond answered, "to know that they need no reason to stop and sing and tell stories. You may have difficulty in keeping them away."

"Then I will be content," said Frodo.

Further back into the courtyard was a small table. At one end facing the sea, an inclined writing surface rested in grooves in the top of the table. Clearly it could be slid out along the grooves and removed if the table were needed for other purposes. Bilbo fingered this with great interest, but only gave Frodo a quick grin before he rejoined the others.

Finally, at the front of the courtyard there was a steep grassy slope with rose creepers trailing colour down to the very door of the hobbit hole in the bank that Frodo had built more than a year before.

Bilbo laughed. All of Frodo's guests had gathered together again after rambling around the place. "You're not just a hobbit any more, my lad," he said. "Even with the smial here, no hobbit would like that second floor or that roof!"

Frodo smiled. "Yes, I am, Uncle. I'm just a hobbit. But I am also Frodo, a hobbit who loves the sea, who loves stargazing -- a hobbit who likes nothing more than to tell stories around a fire outdoors, to wake up to the sound of the waves and who only needs to sit up in bed to see them -- a hobbit whose dearest friends are elves and a wizard, as well as his own kind."

Celebrían knelt before him. "A hobbit of many names, you are. And yet the most important name is Frodo. And when the elves call you Iorhael, behold! They are using your own name alone in their own language, unadorned by roles or titles."

"Thank you," Frodo said fervently. He looked up at the house. "Yes. I am Frodo, and here I can be Iorhael too. Perhaps I can deserve to be named Elf-friend once again in days to come. Here I can be who I have become, and do all of the things I have come to love.

"Finally I am home."

_The End_


End file.
